


A truly good man

by Arzani



Series: the world in balance [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:30:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani
Summary: “You’re still taking Thomas to bed tomorrow,” John said, and then gasped when James brushed their crotches together. A spark of wanton lust rushed from his groin to his fingertips, leaving him shudder. “Say it!”John has filthy thoughts, Thomas does too, and James is consent with them both having filthy thoughts. Or how Thomas and John's relationship develops.





	A truly good man

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't intend this to become so smutty, but both Thomas and John had different ideas.

Dim light filtered through the windows and let James’ eyes looked like sparkling emeralds. Reminded of the sea, John couldn’t avert his gaze, even if he wanted to, and for a moment he forgot everything around him. He forgot the damp sheets that stuck to his back, he forgot the bandages around his upper body, and he even forgot the pain which emitted from the not-yet-healed wounds. Then James thrusted into him again, and a long-drawn moan slipped over his lips. The pleasure forced his eyes shut and his mouth open, his lips forming a perfect O. It was sealed by a wet, willing mouth which gulped down the last bit of John’s moan.

Teeth scraped over his lips, bit and tugged. In combination with the wonderful, hot flesh breaching and driving John mad, it only took a few more thrusts for him to go over the edge, and come. He panted into James’ mouth, breathed his air, while his hands clawed into the muscles of James’ back, to find footing.

For a moment John was lost in his own pleasure, the rush of adrenaline and bliss making him float. When he came back down to earth, he felt James’ rhythm had faltered. It made him smile, and he sucked in his lover’s lower lip, tasted the salt on it. Searching with his gaze for James’ emerald eyes, he found them immediately. His arms tightened his hold on James, his ass cheeks clenched around him, and his one leg pushed James impossibly closer.

‘Come for me’, John’s eyes coaxed, and James followed the lead, arching his back slightly, stilling in his movements, and came hard. John rocked him through his orgasm as best as he could in his position, before James whined into his mouth from oversensitivity. With another searing kiss John rocked his hips one last time, before he let go, grinning smugly.

“Bastard,” James snapped, but there was no bite in it. It made John chuckle, as the two of them rolled to their sides, holding each other close. A deep puff of breath left John, when James slipped out of him.

Gentle fingers found his face, brushed some drops of sweat away, tugging a lock behind his ear. It still amazed John how soft James was in bed, a complete contrary to what his fantasies had had in store for him over all the years. But back then he had imagined fucking Captain Flint, and now he was making love with James.

“You’re alright?” James asked and John knew immediately he meant his wounds. They would take another few weeks to heal completely, and the sweat stung, but he felt too sated and too blissful to bother with the pain. A smile flashed across his face, before he leaned forward, and kissed James. Their lips came together effortlessly, a warm sensation of being guarded rushed through his bones. Kissing James was easy and felt like coming home.

“Yes,” he almost breathed against the other man’s lips, merely inches separating their mouths. His hand slid down James’ side, the skin sweaty and warm under his fingertips, and out of instinct James reached for his calves, to pull John closer. Their legs mingled, his stump carefully draped over James’ thighs.

With the knowledge that John would tell if he felt pain, James dropped the subject, and for a while they traded lazy, gentle kisses. John’s hand had found its way in James’ hair, which reached to his chin, while James stroke up from John’s hips to his stomach. His own come still stuck on his abdomen, but John would do a damn to stand up for cleaning, and break this perfect moment.

“You’re filthy,” James grinned, when he reached for the cooled-of liquid, and started to make an even greater mess. As an answer John tugged at the fiery locks in between his fingers, tilting James’ head with a low groan.

“And who’s the cause, mh?” he asked teasingly, before he sealed their mouths together, again. They both sighed into the kiss, their lips parting to give access to their tongues. John’s cock twitched at the sensation, but he was too spent to harden so soon.

When they let go again, they watched each other’s expressions with utmost care and a gentleness that John had only been able to dream of some months ago. To not say something too cheesy – it was still hard for him to process just how much in love he was with his former captain – he tugged at his hair again. “I’m glad you had let it grow out.”

“You have to thank Thomas for it. He insisted on needing something to pull,” James answered, and nudged John’s nose. The touch was appreciated, and obviously meant as a tease, but it did little to distract John from the guilt that seeped into his body. He shared the bed with James since nearly a week now, and while he loved the intimacy and closeness, he also knew that every minute James spent with him, meant, he wasn’t spending it with Thomas.

“John!”

His name was spoken with a gentle command that forced him to look up. Their eyes met, and he gulped at the openness that faced him. One week was not enough to process entirely that James truly loved him. It still felt like a dream, and John feared of waking up to realize his life was about to turn into a nightmare again. It must have shown on his face.

“Where did you go?” James asked softly, stroking his jaw with his thumb, but John could only shake his head. Instead of answering, he averted his eyes.

“You should spend tomorrow night with Thomas,” he mumbled, loud enough for James to hear, but probably low enough to carry his insecurity. Bile rose in his throat for knowing of his own weaknesses without a chance to fight them.

The thumb on his chin softly but firmly nudged him, tugged lightly at his beard, until John put his own hand over James’ hand to stop him. “Look at me, John.”

It was a tone that reminded him of another island, another hut and a long left behind lifetime. Back then he hadn’t understood, not really. Now he did. And he looked. Unable not to.

“Thomas is consent with this, us. He knows you’re integrated into my life, just as much as he is, and he knows I love you both. He gives us the time willingly,” James said, voice strong – not loud, or angry – but filled with conviction. His eyes sparkled, and his legs had pulled John even closer. There was no daylight between them.

With a sigh John closed his eyes, letting the different emotions wash over him, before he settled on the fiercest strings. His palm brushed James’ temple, lead him towards his mouth, kissed him. In front of his inner eye he saw a treasure chest and a bottle of rum, shared between captain and quartermaster.

“Do you know what I first thought when you told me of Thomas?” John finally said, opening his eyes again. A flash of surprise washed over James’ face.

“That a pattern is a pattern?”

For a moment John was caught off guard. He hadn’t believed James would remember their conversation this well, but on the other hand… why was he even surprised? Clearing his thoughts, he shook his head, but a soft grin crawled up at the edges of his mouth.

“That, too. But no, my very first thought was that your Lord must be a very naïve fool.” He sighed again, smirked faintly. “Now I know he is rather a too good man.”

They lay still for quite a while, the words lingering between them, before James started to stroke John’s face again, played with a curl. He was in thought, John could see it on the unfocused gaze. Then he refocused, shifted slightly, and finally pushed John onto his back. The suddenness of the movement made John gasp, before he laughed, surprised.

“What are you doing?”

With his elbows settled next to John’s head, and the red strands framing his face, James looked like a cat eyeing his prey.

“You know, with every other man I would have said that comparing a naïve fool to a good man would mean they don’t know the difference. But you, you do,” James rasped, arousal clear in his voice. It sparked a fire in John, making his cock twitch back into hardness. Yes, he knew the difference, and James was aware of it. His eyes and posture also screamed ‘and I love you for it’, which made John’s thoughts swirl.

“You’re still taking Thomas to bed tomorrow,” he said, and then gasped when James brushed their crotches together. A spark of wanton lust rushed from his groin to his fingertips, leaving him shudder. “Say it!”

“You think I need encouragement to take to bed the man I love since over a decade?” James grinned, sinisterly, and rubbed his abdomen in figure eights over John’s twitching cock. It sounded so smug in John’s ear that he wasn’t sure whether a yes or a no would be the better answer. Instead of answering he groaned.

“You’re unbelievable,” James added, breath brushing John’s lips, mouth hovering only inches over his. “But yes, of course I will.”

With those words, he locked their mouths together, devoured John, and robbed him of all thoughts, including those of guilt, blue eyes and good men, until John exploded under the ministrations of a thousand touches.

* * *

As far as silence could go, it was silent when John woke up. The chickens indeed never shut up, anyway, and the dairy goat was bleating just on cue. But there was no breathing sound next to him, and no one seemed to be outside. He had overslept. The blinding sun was just another indication.

When he walked into the kitchen, he found a note with James’ neat handwriting, telling John he had went to town. Thomas must be working, because he was nowhere to be seen either. Rubbing his eyes, John looked around, spotted some fresh fruit, and decided he didn’t need more for breakfast. Within minutes he sat outside, and enjoyed the sun and silence. It went well until he was finished eating. Then his mind started to wander, back to the previous night, and eventually to Thomas.

The man was a mystery to John. For the longest time of his life he had believed to know men like him. Lords and Ladies, the rich and powerful, the people in society that didn’t need to spend a second of their lifetime thinking about people like him. Yet, here he was, living with such a person, being allowed to spend his nights with said person’s lover. His lover. The plantation and Bedlam be dammed, it didn’t explain why Thomas had even started to fight a war he could not win.

Not James’ war. But his own.

A deep breath rushed out of John’s lungs, and he closed his eyes. A too good man. There was no other explanation.

He opened his lids again, and blinked due to the sunlight. Reaching for his crutch, he pushed himself into a standing position. His back ached with pain for a moment, then he fought back the nausea, and moved inside. In a few weeks he couldn’t use the wounds any longer as an explanation for doing nothing. Not that he wanted to. The chance to just vanish was long gone, and if this was his home now, John wanted to provide to it. Become a better man. Be a bit more like Thomas was.

* * *

He was in the middle of peeling potatoes for tonight’s dinner when the front door opened. Without thinking John called out, “James?”, wondering how it had come to this moment exactly. Not the peeling potatoes, that was nothing extraordinary anymore. But the way he could say James’ first name without hesitation. The smile it brought to his lips to know he was able to welcome someone close home. To know enough time had passed for James to finally enjoy his cooking the least.

Steps sounded through the hallway, light, lighter than James’ would be. With a frown John checked the position of the sun through the window. A clock wasn’t needed, even though there was one in the kitchen. Getting rid of old habits was hard.

“Thomas?”

“Yes,” came the answer, and a moment later Thomas leaned against the doorframe, looking radiant and amazing. A grin was gracing his face, his blonde hair slightly disheveled. It struck John how beautiful Thomas really was, and his mind conjured a picture of the man in silk instead of cotton. If this was what James had seen back in London, he knew the temptation the man must have been. “It smells amazing. What are you cooking?”

“Stew,” John answered, a little irritated but mostly amused. “Your nose must be incredibly sensitive to smell a not even started dish.” He hadn’t even placed water on the hearth yet.

“Well it will smell fantastic,” Thomas countered, and stepped closer, away from the doorframe. His back was straight, his posture one of a gentleman. After all the years he still inherited his role, like James had shown his navy days in every unconscious move. “Do you need help?”

An eyebrow went up, and on first impulse John wanted to say no, no he didn’t need any help. He had become rather adept in cooking, and had actually found joy in it. But then again, why not? So he just reached for another kitchen knife, turned it in his hand, so Thomas could take the handle and not accidently cut himself, and handed it to him.

“Ever held one of these before?” he teased, and grinned even brighter at the frown presented to him. Then the emotion on Thomas’ face was gone, and Thomas reached for the kitchen tool and another potato.

“You know, we were able to cook before you came here,” Thomas said, but there was no bite in it. It sounded more like a gentle mockery, which made John laugh. It was an irritating but also liberating feeling to do so in front of Thomas.

“I know that James can cook.” His voice strained the ‘James’ to indicate he wasn’t so quite sure with Thomas. A Lord surely never had to cook for himself. But to be fair, Thomas wasn’t one since many years anymore. A good man, but no Lord.

“James,” Thomas countered, actually grinning now “is a very good teacher, as well. I heard you’ve first-hand experience of that.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, reflecting the sun with his golden hair, looking overly too smug and too endearing for John’s liking. His heart did a little jump, tumbling with the sight before him. The last time that had happened, had been when he first had caught James’ auburn hair shimmer like flames in the dawning sun.

Distracted, John needed a moment to gather his thoughts. Just when he wanted to retort that he had gotten the Walrus crew the squits only once, a painful whine and a soft thud disturbed him. His gaze flitted to Thomas, who had cut his hand the first try of actually peeling the potato he had held in hand. Said potato now lay on the floor, and tiny blood drops were running down his thumb.

Without thinking John reached for the bloody hand, and sucked the thumb into his mouth. It tasted metallic, a little bitter from the unpeeled potato, too, but he was used to the taste of blood too well to bother. Only when he was met by round, blue eyes, he realized what he was doing. But letting go now would not do any help, as well, so he kept his grip on Thomas’ wrist.

With one hand only he reached for the old rug they used to dry the dishes. Taking it, he released Thomas’ thumb from his mouth, and pressed the fabric against the cut, smirking amusedly, his eyes crinkling. “It seems I was the better student.” With a push, he indicated for Thomas to press the rug against the bleeding, and added, “I’ll get you something proper to wrap around it.”

“You don’t have to…,” Thomas wanted to protest, but John was already out of the kitchen. Not that he wanted to hear any of it. The two of them – James and Thomas – had cared for him when he had just dropped unconscious, with sword slashes all over his upper body, before their home. Comparing to that, taking care of a cut the size of a fingernail was nothing.

It didn’t take him long to find some bandages. They had a rather big stock for John’s own wounds, which hadn’t healed completely yet and needed changing any other day. When he entered the kitchen again, Thomas sat at the table, rug still pressed to his hand, a lopsided, almost weary smile on his face.

“That is why James always tells me to stay away from the kitchen,” he said when he spotted John, and obediently gave over his hand when John had sat next to him, reaching for his arm. His movements were smooth and precise. He had seen and done this too often for hesitation.

“It’s nothing you can’t learn,” John mumbled absentmindedly, and finished his rather small bandage with a knot. Then he looked up, directly into Thomas’ open face, his sky-blue eyes and enveloping smile. It painted his thankfulness and robbed John’s words. Time stilled between them as they looked at each other.

“Thank you, John,” Thomas said silently after a while, letting the words carry much more than the politeness of gratitude for bandaging a cut. Warmth seeped into John’s skin where Thomas’ hand was still placed in his. It was different. Different from what he knew, different from his connection to James. Calmer in a way. When James was the sea, Thomas was the sky.

“Don’t…” But John didn’t found out what Thomas wasn’t about to do or think or worry about, because his voice died away, and with it his thoughts, when the front door opened.

“John? I’m back,” a warm voice called. Automatically his heart swelled with love, the joy overwhelming despite or probably because of the simplicity of the gesture. It must have shown on his face, because Thomas leaned closer, and kissed his forehead gently. His hand even brushed a stray lock out of his face, before he stood, and walked out of the kitchen. From down the hallway John could hear James’ astonished voice, sounding genuinely happy to have Thomas back at such an early hour. But John didn’t really recognize it, as his thoughts were still too occupied to process what just had happened.

* * *

They had been reading in relative silence this evening. The fire had painted the room in an orange light, the flames warming them although it did grow colder outside now every night. John was glad James hadn’t asked him why he was this quiet, because keeping his thoughts to himself was not his quality trait. Yet, with how fickle they were, slipping from here to there and back, he would not have known how to voice them. The cut, the blood, his own actions and Thomas’ response to them were still irritating.

When James took Thomas by the hand, John almost sighed in relief. For a while he had believed it would not happen. Either because James wondered what was wrong with him, or because Thomas refused the offer. His mind even conjured the mental image that Thomas would ask him to follow him to bed, but before he could answer for himself if he would say yes or no, he brushed it aside as an impossibility.

Thomas followed their shared lover without hesitation, and the lack of needing an explanation told John they had obviously spoken about John’s insistence at one point or another. It didn’t bother him. In fact, it was almost most irritating how less it bothered him to be their topic of discussion. He was only glad to not need to school his expressions any longer. Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow things would return to normal.

While he had tried, he had only read a few pages of the book in his lap. His mind hadn’t been able to focus, so now, as he was alone, he closed it, and just leaned back. Part of his body felt relaxed, tired even. They had all been sitting next to each other, John next to James next to Thomas. The warmth of James’ body heat lingered, and his skin prickled where they had touched. It was a comforting feeling of being safe within the presence of the other man.

Another part, the part that was curious and in a certain way anxious, hindered him from falling asleep though. James was taking Thomas to bed, a man he loved and cherished for almost one and a half decades. A man he had started a war over, killed men for, almost threw himself away for. A man, a good man. A man that had thanked him, John, a liar and thief, a person from nowhere, being nothing. Because of a simple bandage.

Laughter filtered through the wall into the parlor. It sounded open and happy, but because it was muffled John couldn’t say for certain who was laughing. Probably James. Maybe Thomas.

He should move. The bedroom was situated right next to the parlor, and their walls weren’t thick. John would be able to hear them, should he stay. All their laughter, their shared happiness, the joy and pleasure. He should move, give them privacy as best as he could. He should move. He didn’t.

Instead he settled into a comfortable position, the book safely secured on a near-by table. His eyes slipped close, and his mind drifted. Thomas was a handsome man, tall, with broad shoulders and sky-blue eyes. The work on the plantation showed in his muscles, even after the years had passed. James must have always felt safe in those arms, as John felt safe in James’ arms. He wondered what it would feel like, to have those arms around his waist, cradling him.

Civilization had placed him in a cell, hid him from sight on a plantation. Did Thomas bear scars, like James was bearing scars? Like John himself did? Red marks, thin lines telling a history of pain and neglect. What would it be like to worship them, tell Thomas the world had no right to humiliate, because he was an entirely good man. A man the world hadn’t realized to be a treasure. Naïve, yes, maybe without much farsightedness for the dangers laying ahead. Born into a society that allowed to not care, and judge people of a lower class, and yet not doing it. A man, so rare that John realized what it must have meant for James, back then in London. A man James would not find again. Not in someone else, and especially not in John. A man that currently found praise and pleasure in the room next to his.

A moan sounded through the walls, low and husky, and it shot a wave of arousal through John’s body. His legs fell apart, and his hand slipped between them. He was half-hard, and he couldn’t pinpoint why. He had only thought of Thomas, not even naked. When another moan reached his ear, though, that changed. A vivid imagination could be a curse and a blessing, now it was probably a sin. While his fingers undid his trousers, he wondered if James was as gentle with Thomas as he was with him? Would he kiss him languidly, too, or press their mouths together hard? Did their bodies slot together in union, or was it a fight for dominance? Was James pressing Thomas down, or lay back and let the man do the work? Or maybe it was even Thomas who took James?

The thought set John aflame, his cock jerked in his hand, and as on cue he could hear James groan deeply. He was lost, lost to the thoughts of Thomas and James together. Lost to the pleasure it caused, lost to the image of two bodies connecting to become one. He was so lost that the cried out “Please” startled him. He almost jumped at the sound, realizing it was Thomas who was begging.

Another plea reached him, and John couldn’t stop the arousal, couldn’t stop the rush of adrenaline that swamped him, almost as if he was the one making Thomas beg. His finger tightened, even harder when he could hear a “Yes, yes I do.” James must whisper torturing question in Thomas’ ear. John could see it in front of his inner eye, could see how James was buried deep in Thomas’ arse, his hand reaching around the pale frame, tugging Thomas’ cock with his fingers, and shifting his hips whenever it took too long to get an answer. It gave him explicit ideas for their own next night.

While he concentrated more and more on his own pleasure, John lost his grip on the words. Instead he focused on the sounds rather than the content, letting his mind drench him in images of James and Thomas and them. Together. The three of them in one bed, too close to make out where one began and the other ended. When he came, he had no idea how close his own thoughts resembled those that had caused James to pry from Thomas why he hadn’t been able to tell him exactly what had happened with his thumb.

* * *

A few days passed, a little more than a week, almost two, in which John’s thoughts didn’t stop turning. He couldn’t voice them, at least not the more frightening, torturing ones. Those that contained him and James and Thomas, all of them, together. Their forms and shapes varied, every minute so. Sometimes it was just him and James, while sky-blue eyes watched, nodded, approved. Mostly so, when John was able to grip them tighter, during the day, while schooling his expressions. But other times, in the night, when he was not lying with James, feeling the warm skin hovering over his small frame, taking him apart, they became bigger, scandalous-like. Then they slipped between his fingers, painting pictures of him with Thomas, while James watched, approvingly, or even illustrated him in the middle of the two bodies, both of them worshipping him, undoing him, fucking him deep and hard and fast.

He ached, god how he ached, and he was far from having an outlet for his ache.

It didn’t make it better that since the incident in the kitchen, Thomas had started to touch him. Nothing unseemly, nothing conspicuous. They were simple touches, a hand on his shoulder, fingers brushing back a lock of his, steadying arms when he stumbled. All of them like what James had done, back when they had been quartermaster and captain. Maybe a bit more affectionate, but when John thought about it more thoroughly, not even. It was just that Thomas wasn’t facing a war with them, like they had back those few years, and it was what made John wonder, if this was, what had made him blind. The war. Probably. Or else he would have been able to see the true nature of James’ touches earlier. He couldn’t deny that he had a distinct feeling of the nature of Thomas’ touches.

And he ached for them. Craved them. Wanted to act on them, but didn’t know how.

He always had been a fool when it came to his own feelings.

Instead he settled different thoughts, easier ones to handle and find a solution for. For example, what role he was about to play in front of their neighbors and the town’s folk. Another cousin would cause mistrust, especially regarding the fact that none of them looked alike. Hell, they couldn’t be further apart in looks. Thomas had porcelain skin, no matter how much he was in the sun, and golden hair, while James was covered in freckles and freckles, his red hair shining like flames in the night. John, with his dark locks and tanned skin was the furthest in looks from the two. They were smarter than making him another cousin. After all they had fooled time and time again the British Navy, Spaniards and more pirates than John could count.

“What speaks against you simply being a friend of the family?” Thomas asked, while they sat at the table, eating their dinner. It was a simple dish, chicken and some vegetables, but rich in flavor from spices James grew in the garden.

“Mostly the increasing questions of our so-called family that I don’t want to answer,” James muttered as a response. John could see it wasn’t all. It showed in the way James was carrying himself, his posture, the tense set of shoulders, his jaw locked a little tighter. There was no exact pinpointing why, but if John could make a guess, he’d say that James didn’t want to degrade him to a simple friend of the family. Because family friends weren’t allowed small intimate touches in public, weren’t supposed to be close, at least not as close as, for example, cousins.

“Give us another option, then,” Thomas said, and while it could have sounded angry said by every other person, when Thomas spoke the words they sounded rather encouragingly.

Before James could come up with another idea, though, John quipped up, smirking at the thought that just crossed his mind. “We should keep to the truth as close as possible, so we don’t get caught in our lies, shouldn’t we?” he asked, knowing he was right. After all he was a master-liar, and the way James rolled his eyes he was thinking exactly the same. Without giving Thomas and James time to answer his rhetoric question, he moved on. “You told everyone the story of being a retired merchant’s captain, so why not adding to the story? Let us tell the people I was your quartermaster, or first mate if that makes you more comfortable, who kept to the sea a little while longer after you retired. But while you never cared for the misfortunate amputation I had to go through, while under your service, others didn’t want me on deck, so I dropped out and searched for the man whose life was tied to mine. I found you here, with your cousin, and because I saved your life several times, and you did mine, you didn’t want to send me away.”

He stopped with a glorious grin on his face, knowing he must look satisfied with his story and radiant. For a long while there was silence between the three of them, stretching like a rope, before it snapped with Thomas’ laugh.

“What can I say, this is certainly the closest we will come to the truth without telling the people you both were feared pirates once,” he managed to say after his laughing fit stopped, making James groan. His hand rubbed over his face, while John caught Thomas’ gaze. It shot a wave of unwanted arousal through his veins. Those blue eyes shone with amusement and something akin to pride, and something else, something feral, that had John gulping, and willing his cock to stay down.

“Fine,” James just agreed, and snapped John back to reality when James’ bare foot slipped behind his leg, to the legs of the stool, pulling him closer. “But just because I know how much you love to tell all those stories. I can already see how the eyes of the people will follow your lips, speaking about sharks and storms and sword’s fighting…”

James had leaned closer and closer with every word, until his lips brushed John’s, making him sigh in anticipation. His heartbeat drowned out all the previous thoughts, yet he still saw Thomas’ shining eyes follow every movement, before James kissed him deeply, sensually. John’s eyelids fell shut, giving into the liberating feeling of those wonderful lips against his own.

When they let go, John panted, and was satisfied to see James’ state was similarly disheveled. Regaining his breath, he took his time, before he stated, almost smugly, “I also need a job, and I heard the local tavern looks for a cook.”

James groaned, while Thomas laughed.

* * *

The settee had become their favorite spot to sit on in the evening, read, talk and relax, while the rest of the world went to a halt. They were John’s preferred hours of the day, those peaceful moments when he was closest to the two men he loved, one very openly and the other... the other silently, hidden, but he loved him all the same.

The realization had dawned on him slowly, but after all the subtle touches, the exchanged gazes and the easy flow of words, John could admit so much to himself. He was still unaware how to act on it, but it would just be a matter of time. He even suspected James’ knowledge and consent in it, because every touch drew a smile from his lips. It was a quiet one, but it was there, and it left them freedom to find out on their own terms. John was thankful for it.

Night was crawling in, shutting down the last rays of sunshine, and John closed his eyes, leaning his head on the backrest of the settee. His legs were sprawled out over James’ lap, even partly over Thomas’, who sat next to James, reading. Meanwhile James dug his fingers in John’s thigh, massaging the knots away. A growl left his mouth at a particular sore one.

“Jesus, don’t torture me, James,” he mewled, tensing at the pain. While he was used to walking with the crutch for years now, John’s good leg would never stop straining from the added weight, and the unbalanced stance.

James stopped his ministrations until John had relaxed again, before he started massaging the muscles again. His fingers worked expertly, knowing what to do easily, for he knew John’s body and injury better than anyone else. “You’ll thank me later.”

It was a simple reply, almost muttered unconsciously, and John sighed, trying to focus on something else other than the pain, because he knew James was right. Leaning back, he let his mind wander, but it was hard with the torturing waves of pain shooting up his leg through his body. He hissed when James’ fingers found the next knot.

“How can you even walk, when it hurts as much?” Thomas asked, his fingers sliding up and down the dorsum of his foot. It was an absentminded movement, and would probably have tickled wouldn’t the massage pain him as much as it did. A part of him was glad for it though, because there was no chance to hide a bulge with the light sleeping breeches he wore. The other option to make this massage work would be to go naked, and John wasn’t comfortable to go this step, yet, with Thomas also sitting next to them.

“Practice,” he muttered, and James chuckled, making his leg shake with the shaking of his own body. It was a sight to behold, especially after all those years John had seen James being unable to, but he pinched his arm nonetheless.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, trying to sound indignant but knew he failed.

“Just remembering something.”

The words made even Thomas straighten a little, and he rose an eyebrow at James, putting his book aside. There was curiosity shining in his eyes, his hand folding over John’s leg. “Mind to share, darling?”

“No,” was the instant reply, followed by a smirk that told John as much as Thomas that they wouldn’t get an answer, even if they pried, so John just settled back again, closing his eyes. He hadn’t believed it would distract him as much, but while he tried to figure what James had referred to, because it must have something to do with him, he forgot the pain radiating from his leg. It soothed, as the knots loosened under James’ fingers, and when he stopped, John didn’t even notice. His mind was occupied, travelling back until he remembered one particular conversation, that had helped him drastically to move with the crutch.

His eye-lids flew open, and he stared at James, cheeks coloring. “You’re a smug bastard, do you know that?”

“I’m just trying to help,” James shrugged, and if John ever had a doubt whether James knew, now it was gone. His cheeks flushed a little more, while warmth filled his belly. But there was no chance to move, because when he jerked his legs James held him close. It was infuriating how the smirk grew on that freckled face. “You were always bad at watching two points at the same time.”

Out of instinct John’s gaze snapped to Thomas, who was watching the banter with interest but obvious irritation. He couldn’t know, if James hadn’t told him explicitly the content of that one discussion, and judging by Thomas’ look, James’ hadn’t. It didn’t make it better that James was right, not that John would ever admit it.

“I had some time to practice, and I doubt, this time, I will get killed by watching your eyes,” John snapped back, when he managed to look away from Thomas’ crystal clear blue eyes, knowing what answer would follow before James even spoke it. He groaned, inwardly.

“Maybe not by mine, but by his,” James teased, and it didn’t, it really didn’t help that his hands had wandered upwards, closer to John’s groin, fingers rubbing slow circles into his leg. The fabric separating skin from skin didn’t help much to quench the arousal that surged through him. Thomas had also continued to stroke his foot. Good _god…_

“Did you two plan this?” he asked, short of breath already, and there hadn’t even happened much, despite that fact that both James’ and Thomas’ focus was solely on him. They looked so beautiful like this, eyes shining excitedly, posture open, lips grazed by lazy smiles. John wanted them so badly, both of them, together, always. There was no way he could deny it any longer.

“Planned what?” Thomas asked almost innocently, but there was something in his face that betrayed him. John gulped, as Thomas shifted to lean closer. His fingers itched with the want to grab him, to draw him close.

“And here I thought you’re a good man,” John groaned, not knowing what held him back. He wanted it, Thomas obviously wanted it, too, and James, James was waiting, assessing, smirking like a good-damn madman. Traitor.

John’s mind reeled. If he could just give into the urge, the ache, the longing. But the last time he had loved a good person it had destroyed her. James, James was used to his darkness, knew it, healed him, as he healed James. But Thomas was different, so filled with light. He didn’t want to dirt him…

And here was Thomas, his hands on the settee, to steady himself, as he hovered over John’s lips, grinning, drinking him in with his eyes. There was nothing John could do, to stop himself from doing the same.

“I loved a wife who found pleasure in other men. I loved a lieutenant to a point it endangered both our lives. I took hold of his heart, so that he needed to become the most feared pirate in the New World, to search for something or someone to give him a heart back. When I found him, again, I loved him still, and made him take my heart in turn. He took it, and carried the weight of two hearts, too heavy to bear. Until you showed up in front of our doorstep, and instead of giving you your heart back, I took the half of my seafarer’s heart and gave it to you, letting you ache for the missing piece.”

John hadn’t thought the words to have such an effect on him, but he was dazed, enthralled by them, while he was flooded with want. He couldn’t stop looking into Thomas’ eyes, felt his breath on his lips, and the heat of his body-warmth. Meanwhile James had started to run a finger over his crotch, lazily, stoking the fire in John’s belly. He was hard, he was aching, he wanted James to ravish him and ravish Thomas in return, but all he could do was breathe deeply and wait.

“You ache and ache. You want me, want me so badly, and I know it. I knew it for days. Still I let you ache, and you really think I’m a good man?” Thomas was still hovering over him, and John realized only with a fraction of his mind that James was undoing his trousers, freeing his painfully hard cock, until his hand wrapped around it and squeezed. His back arched, and a moan ripped from his throat.

“You’re a good man,” John panted through the haze of emotions, drinking Thomas’ breaths, gulping in the air he left him. “You are,” he added, another low moan interrupting him, because James had started to stroke him. “good!”

“Please…,” he drawled, begged, and finally, finally Thomas closed the distance and kissed him. Kissed him so thoroughly, that John forgot to tell him why exactly he believed him to be a good man. Forgot to feel shame or embarrassment over being undone by two men at the same time. Forgot everything around him, other than Thomas and James, who worked him open and filled him. Until he was carrying both the halves of their hearts, and knew Thomas was carrying the other half of his, relieving James of the added weight. Leaving their world in balance.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who want to know: James was asking Thomas if he wants to fuck John. Well, he couldn't really deny it, could he?


End file.
